Will You Walk With Me?
by FrequencyOnion
Summary: Saving the galaxy sure wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and John Shepard still can't help but wonder if he made the right choice.


_Endless miles of grassy waves quivered in the breeze. Dark clouds rolled in, preceded by the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance and rain scenting the air. The clouds fenced the horizon, corralling him in the empty meadow. _

_A gunshot pierced the silence. The instinct to duck quashed by a voice in the back of his mind that assured him doing so was nonsense._

_In the distance, a hazy silhouette dropped into the grass; another gunshot, another figure. He glanced around, looking for the gunman, but he was alone save for the figures materializing all around him. They whispered to him, a frustrating jumble of voices trying to talk over one another. He caught snippets of conversation, but it was impossible to make any sense of it as the sound of gunfire drowned them out. _

_He ran toward a group of the figures scattered ahead, but he was running in slow motion, each step heavier than the last. The figures dropped away when he reached to them; always too slow, too late. The sky grew darker as he moved from figure to figure in a futile effort to save just one from the phantom gunman. By the time the sky was nearly black, a single silhouette remained. A flash of lightning tore through the air and struck the ground between them, the scent of ozone filling his nose. The silhouette before him rippled into a solid form._

_Another crack of gunfire. His heart lurched in his throat as he watched the lone figure collapse. He lunged, catching it-him-in his arms, and falling to his knees. Tears streaking down his face as he hugged the blue-armored figure to his chest, nuzzling the man's cheek. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. A crimson sun broke through the clouds, an evil eye with them in its sights. A familiar ache in his chest the last thing he felt as the redness consumed them._

John jolted awake as a strangled cry was wrung from his throat. He focused tired eyes on the ceiling, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths. Once his racing pulse was under control he rubbed at his eyes and risked a glance at the glowing orange digits of the bedside clock-only three hours of sleep. He pushed away the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, blissfully cool air kissing his flushed skin.

Third time that week he'd had that exact nightmare, but overall? He'd lost count when the total veered into double digits. The identity of those figures continued to elude him, yet there was always a vague sensation that he should know them-should know their faces, their names, their suffering-but he didn't. All that ever mattered was the figure that revealed itself without fail.

Guilt refused to release him from its clutches, creating nightmares so vivid and horrifying that it was near to impossible to sleep. So he didn't. He couldn't so much as think about sleeping anymore without nearly having an anxiety attack. Sure, it didn't help his usual oh-so-charming disposition, but if he didn't sleep he didn't have to see those images. Those brown eyes widened in shock, going cloudy with that final breath...

John lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't help but feel a tiny prickle of envy that his bedmate hadn't so much as moved a muscle. _Lucky bastard._ Kaidan slept like the dead and anything short of a swift kick typically wouldn't wake him. If truly exhausted he could probably sleep through the hitting the floor part.

John laid his head back down and reluctantly closed his eyes.

The terrible image of his husband's bloody, lifeless form flashed behind his eyelids. John jerked awake. Bile churned in the pit of his stomach and rose in his throat, forcing him up and out of bed. So much for sleep. He stumbled toward the bathroom, biting back a curse when his bare foot stepped on a boot.

The bathroom door slid shut and lights flickered to life as he slumped over the sink, gripping the sides to steady his trembling frame against the dry heaves. _Just breathe._ He choked again and shuddered, the burn of what felt like battery acid against the back of his throat. _So much blood-all over that handsome face, staining his hands. Kaidan's blood was on his hands._ John's stomach clenched and he wretched into the basin. He quickly rinsed the bitter taste from his mouth and turned to grab a towel, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he did so.

He barely recognized the haggard face staring back at him. Once sparkling blue eyes had long since lost their shine, the tiny lines of age chiseled into the corners of ashen skin. His already thin lips were tightly drawn into a grimace, an expression he feared more common than he wanted to believe. When had this started? He hung the towel up and spared one last glance at the alien form in the mirror before staggering out of the bathroom.

He padded down the steps and across the cold tile floor to the kitchen. Opening the cabinets above the sink, he rifled through them until his hands fell upon the objects he sought. From the shelves he pulled down a glass tumbler and the bottle of his favorite aged tequila. He poured a few swallows worth of amber liquor into the glass and set it aside, capping the bottle and stashing it back in the cabinet. Drink in hand, he picked his way through the darkness to the couch, and sank into the cushions. Sipping idly at the drink cradled in his hand, the complex flavors of the tequila mingled with well-tread memories; bitter balancing sweet, harsh contrasting mellow.

After the war he hadn't thought it possible to be any happier; the galaxy saved, miraculously cheating death a second time, his lover still waiting for him. And after his own recovery, a fulfilling new career opportunity rife with all sorts of new challenges to tackle. He'd known he couldn't be a career soldier forever-didn't want to be-but he'd expected that change to happen later rather than sooner. At least he had other skills to fall back on. Skills he wanted to exercise, flexing his mental muscles for once rather than bodily ones.

But for all the untold amounts of blood and anguish and hell he'd been through, he still struggled with the thought that he didn't deserve his charmed life. That nagging feeling that he should've given everything he had. Not until the last drop of his blood, the last pitiful breath taken from him would it be enough. Or so the popular opinion was; he tended to disagree.

The stairs creaked under the weight of footsteps, bringing John back to the present. He took another healthy swig and dropped his head against the couch, the tequila's warmth blossoming in his chest. Hearing the clink of ceramic against countertop he cocked his head to the side, silently watching Kaidan's silhouette move around the kitchen.

John turned away and waited a few moments before lifting the tumbler to his lips. Before he could even take a sip, Kaidan plucked the glass from his hand and replaced it with a mug. Wrinkling his nose in silent protest, John watched his glass be set down out of reach. He huffed and took a cautious sip of the steaming, fragrant tea.

"Another one of those nights, huh?" Kaidan asked, sinking down into the cushions next to John. The leather cushions creaked as he shifted into place, eventually settling with an arm draped around John's shoulders.

John rested his head on Kaidan's shoulder. "Yeah," he breathed. A weak smile tugged at his lips when he felt a kiss pressed to his forehead. Kaidan hugged him closer. This moment-this was how he always wanted it to feel; warm and safe, loved beyond all reason. His heart should've soared, but was instead deflated by guilt.

"You can't keep beating yourself up over it." Kaidan murmured, raking a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "You took what information you had at the time and made your choice. I'd like to see anyone else have to make that decision."

"But do you think it was the right choice?" John asked.

"From what you've told me, I don't think there ever was a "right" choice, only what you thought was best."

Living with that fateful decision to destroy the Reapers wasn't the hard part for John-it was the unexpected backlash. Not in his wildest nightmares had he imagined fingers pointed in accusation would be his thanks for destroying the Reaper scourge. Even Joker turned on him for awhile, furious with EDI's loss. Throwing John's relationship with Kaidan in his face to prove that he couldn't ever understand how Joker felt. Time tempered some of the hostility, but the camaraderie was still strained. He was slowly losing hope that situation would change.

"So if everything was the same-if we just traded places-what would you have picked?"

"I..." Kaidan paused to consider his answer. Even in hypothetical terms John knew it was a difficult question to answer. "I guess I would've picked the same thing."

John took another sip. "Should've just sacrificed myself and then everybody would've been happy," he muttered. He no longer dealt with the accusations, but he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion of blame. Whether that was true or not, he couldn't say. What he did know was that everyone around him seemed otherwise finished with the grieving process while he spiraled into...whatever this was. Depression? Grief? Anger? Emptiness? All of the above and then some, he supposed.

Kaidan started to speak, but paused and bit his tongue. "When you say things like that..." John turned his head to see Kaidan's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Maybe you should talk to a therapist again-for real this time."

John bristled, his body tensing against Kaidan's. "What good's a shrink gonna do me? They don't have a fucking clue how I feel," he snarled. The single time he visited a shrink he'd been uncooperative to say the least. He'd refused to return, swearing up and down that he had no need for one. He had people to talk to, he didn't need to waste money on some professional listener-what kind of job was that anyway?-who would just over-analyze his messed up childhood and say his mother raised him incorrectly. And he sure as hell wasn't taking any medication.

"I don't know, John, but something needs to change," Kaidan growled, his voice deep with warning. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

John's eyes widened in shock. _He didn't mean... did he?_ His jaw twitched and he looked away. "I'm sorry," John bit out, "maybe you should find someone who's not a fucking mess then." He thumped his mug on the coffee table and pushed himself up from the couch. His fists clenched at his sides as he turned to storm off toward the stairs.

Kaidan jumped up and grabbed his wrist before he made it more than a step. John shook his hand off and turned his back to the other man. He crossed his arms in a huff and bit his lip. He wasn't going to cry. He didn't need to look like any more of a headcase than he already was.

Hesitant arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. "I know what you're thinking; I didn't mean it like that," Kaidan said. "I'm sorry." He pressed an apologetic kiss behind John's ear.

John snorted.

"I'm just tired of seeing you like this. I don't know what to say or do to make it all stop, and that kills me. It's not easy admitting you need help-I get that-but whatever you're worried about, you don't have to go through it alone."

John finally let himself relax into the embrace. "Whatever you need to help you feel better, I'll be with you every step of the way." Kaidan's warm breath tickled John's neck, sending a pleasant shiver coursing through his body. "We're in this together. 'For better or for worse', remember?" John heard the smile in his voice.

He rested a hand on Kaidan's. Drawing a shaky breath, he nodded. "Okay," he said, voice cracking on the single word. Committing to another session-only one of many that would have to follow-made his stomach churn. Commitment he could handle. The intact galaxy was just as much evidence of that as the plain silver band on his finger, scuffed from years of wear.

But baring his most most humiliating weaknesses to a complete stranger, not so much. Weaknesses that, given the choice and ability to, he wouldn't tell to anyone. He would just continue to live with them in stoic silence, letting them feast on his body and mind like a chronic disease. Yeah, because that was working out really well for him so far.

The guilt had consumed enough of his life already that he wasn't even sure how much more of it _he_ could take.

"And no lying to them this time."

"It was just that one time," John protested innocently.

Kaidan chuckled and released him, swatting his hip before walking away. "They can't help if you don't tell the truth," he chided, stopping at the base of the stairs.

John held up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay-no lying," he said, rolling his eyes in amusement. He went to the stairs and slipped his hand into Kaidan's, that same contented warmth from earlier rushing back. Feeling a reassuring squeeze in return, he looked over at Kaidan and flashed him a lopsided grin.

Sleep didn't sound like such a bad idea after all.


End file.
